Nothing Is As It Seems
by feathers-theangel
Summary: Sam found a blog. Not just anyone's blog either, but John Watson's. He manages to contact Sherlock and trick him into visiting, but Dean is suspicious. Sherlock's going to have a hard time adjusting to the supernatural, and somewhere far, far away, Crowley is devising his own plans.
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock?" John called from the kitchen.

"What?" Sherlock whined. He had been in the middle of a perfectly good night's rest and wasn't quite willing to get up, especially if it meant he had to put on clothes.

"Can you come here for a moment?" John's voice floated into the room, sounding slightly perplexed.

Sherlock sighed. He dragged on a discarded shirt and gathered up his blankets, wrapping them around himself like a cocoon. He padded into the kitchen, fully expecting John to ask him about the plane tickets that were currently lying next to Sherlock's tea. He decided to cut to the chase.

"Yes, John, those are plane tickets, and yes we are going to Colorado. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd freak out and try to make an excuse to get out of it. And yes, yes you would have, John, because you've done it before." He said, because John had opened up his mouth to protest. It snapped shut and the room was mercifully silent. Sherlock leaned against the counter and sipped his tea.

"And why, are we going to Colorado in the first place?" John was staring at him. Sherlock sighed.

"A couple days ago an extremely bright young man by the name of Sam Winchester contacted me. He said he was a huge fan of my work, and that there might be a case there that seemed similar to the H.O.U.N.D. case we solved a while ago. I looked into what he was talking about of course, and the similarities are striking. I thought it might be wise to get away from Mycroft's scrutiny for a time as well." Sherlock's expression turned cold as he remembered the last time the brothers had met. From what John could hear, they had been fighting about something and Mycroft had put John on red alert to watch over Sherlock when he had left. Sherlock didn't leave his room the entire day. Neither sibling would tell him what had happened.

"Are you ever going to tell me what on Earth you two were fighting about?" John asked, knowing Sherlock's response before he even asked.

Sherlock continued to sip his tea, eyes trained on the wall. John sighed.

"America. We're going to America."

"Yes, John."

"And when, exactly?"

"Tomorrow, at 8 am."

John did a double take.

"Tomorrow? At 8 AM?" He practically yelled, looking incredulously at Sherlock.

"Yes, John."

John looked helplessly around the room.

"What if I had something planned tomorrow?"

"You don't."

"And how would you kn - oh, you know what, never mind." He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "I guess I'll go … pack." He picked up his tea and the newspaper, and made his way to his room.

Sherlock smirked.

* * *

"Wait, so let me get this straight … you read some stranger's blog, thought he was cool, or whatever, and then talked him into coming here? Why?" Dean demanded, pacing in front of Sam, who was sitting at the motel table, staring at Dean like he was a toddler that was having trouble learning his ABC's.

"I think he's a psychic." Sam repeated for what had to have been the third time.

"Have you not heard about stranger danger? Not to talk to people on the internet? With our luck, he'll turn out to be a demon or something." Dean had stopped pacing and stood in front of Sam.

Sam pressed his lips together and stared at the floor, trying not to smile. He looked up at his brother. "Stranger danger?"

"Oh, you know what I mean." He resumed his pacing.

Sam sighed. "His name, is Sherlock Holmes. Apparently he's a famous private investigator or something. He's british."

"So?"

"So," Sam turned his laptop towards Dean. It was open to an article about Sherlock, and his achievements. "He's a real person. He really is coming, and, he's really a human being, as far as I can tell."

Dean huffed. "I'm sending Cas to check."

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed his laptop, walking over to his bed where he could be more comfortable.

"Castiel." Dean started. "Will you please get your feathery a-"

"Hello, Dean."

The hunter spun around to see Cas standing next to the TV.

"Ah- Right. Hey, Cas." Dean raised his arm, not quite sure what to with his limbs for a moment. He rubbed the back of neck.

Castiel frowned at him. "Why did you call me?"

"I, well, uh. I need you to spy on someone for me." He dropped his arm and gestured to Cas.

"… And whom am I to spy on?"

"Sher- Sherlock - something. " Dean turned to Sam for help.

"Holmes." Sam added. "Sherlock Holmes. London, England."

Dean turned back to Castiel. "Yeah, him. Oh, and don't let them see you. You got that?"

He nodded, and with a flutter of wings, Cas disappeared. Dean heaved a sigh and flopped down onto his bed.

* * *

Sherlock and John were both awoken by an alarm at 6 am the next morning. Mrs. Hudson had left tea and breakfast out, and they ate in silence. At 6:30 am, they both grabbed their suitcases and left. As Sherlock was hailing a cab, John was looking around, not used to seeing the city this early in the morning.

As he was looking around, a man across the street caught his eye. The man was quite tall, and had dark hair and stubble. He was wearing a tan trench coat, with a suit underneath. His tie was backwards. He was staring straight at Sherlock, and the longer John watched, the more uneasy he felt.

John turned to Sherlock as a cab pulled up. "Do you see that man over there?"

Sherlock looked up, staring at where John was pointing. He looked confused and irritated.

"There's no one there, John. Now hurry up and get in."

The doctor looked back to where the man was standing, only to see the entire street devoid of life. He stared at the spot for a few seconds, refusing to believe that the man had just disappeared.

"John!"

He shook himself out of it and climbed inside of the cab.


	2. Chapter 2

They had first class seats, and John had been sitting for a total of twenty minutes before he poked Sherlock awake.

"Hu- What? John?" He mumbled, sitting himself up.

"How long is the flight?" John mock-whispered, looking around at the other sleeping passengers.

Sherlock rubbed his eyes and looked at the time on his phone.

"We have ten hours left." He growled. "May I sleep now?"

John nodded and leaned back, closing his eyes. Just ten more hours. Ten hours.

His eyes shot open.

"Ten hours?!" He whispered loudly.

All he got was a garbled reply. What was he supposed to do for ten hours? Read? He hadn't brought much in the way of books. He had nothing on his laptop, save for solitaire and chess. He huffed and settled himself in, preparing for a long ride.

* * *

"Wait, so we have to pick them up from the airport ourselves?" Dean grumbled loudly, throwing clothes on the bed as Sam got ready for his shower.

"Yes, Dean, we do, because if you haven't noticed, we're living in a motel." Sam responded.

Dean just let out a frustrated sigh, not sure he wanted two strangers from Britain in his baby, especially if one might be a psychic.

"Oh, and dress nicely, would you? I want to make a good impression on them." He shut the door to take a shower.

"Oh, and dress nicely." Dean mimicked, making a face at the door of the bathroom. He heard the sound of wings fluttering softly behind him and froze, suddenly conscious that he was in nothing but a towel.

"Dean, the men you made me follow are not demons. They are completely human." Cas stated.

"Uh, that's uh - cool. Just - just gimme a moment man, I'm not dressed yet." Dean stammered, back still to the angel.

"Oh." It sounded like Cas hadn't even noticed until Dean pointed it out to him. "My apologies." He fluttered out.

Dean let out a gust of air and ran a hand through his hair.

He needed more clothes.

* * *

"So, wait, how are we supposed to know who's picking us up? Have you even seen him?" John yawned, stumbling off the plane with a very alert Sherlock strutting behind him.

"He said he'd be holding a sign for us. I informed him of the gate and plane number before we took off."

As they stepped off the ramp leading into the gate, a few heads turned at the sound of their voices. Of course. Americans.

Sherlock stepped ahead of John. John was carrying an army bag, and was slightly jealous that Sherlock had less clothes than him, which was absolutely ridiculous.

"Ah! Over there." John looked over to where Sherlock was heading, and saw two unnecessarily tall men, the smaller one looking like he'd rather be anywhere else and the larger of the two holding a piece of paper reading: "Sherlock Holmes".

Sherlock reached them first, and held out a hand. "Sherlock Holmes. I'm assuming you're Sam Winchester."

Sam took it and shook. "It's nice to finally meet you. And your … friend?" Dean looked over from his cuff links and snorted. The guy Sam was staring at was at least six inches shorter than him.

"Yeah. I'm uh-" He dropped his bag to take Sam's hand. "John. John Watson. Friend of Sherlock's."

"Well then. Nice to meet you. This here, is my brother Dean." He pulled on Dean's arm, dragging him over. Seriously, he had forgotten how much muscle Sam had packed on.

He shook hands. "Dean Winchester. FBI." The lie rolled off his tongue like butter, years of practice making it sound believable. He and Sam had decided to declare themselves FBI before they left, thinking it would minimize awkward questions about their professions.

"No, you're not." Sherlock stated, staring at Dean.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not FBI." John looked from Sherlock to Dean, growing suspicious.

"And what makes you say that?" Dean asked, feeling uncomfortable. This should be working. He was supposed to be FBI.

"The callouses between your right thumb, forefinger, and palm suggest you use bun instruments in confrontation on a regular basis, something that, last I checked, the FBI does not encourage. The shadows under your eyes indicate chronic insomnia, which would have gotten you removed from duty in less than three months after diagnosis, if it was even diagnosed at all, and there's no way even an American government agency could miss such a severe case. You blinked more than three times when stating you were FBI, which suggests that you were lying. A very good lie, one I almost believed, which means you most likely state it to people regularly. This leaves me with one last question, Dean Winchester, if that is your name, why should I not report you to the police right this instant?"

Sam and Dean stared at Sherlock in blatant shock.

Sam recovered first. "Uh. That was - that was a test. I wanted to make sure you were actually … you."

Sherlock squinted at him. "That still does not explain your brother's callouses, or the fact that the lie was good enough for me to almost believe it. I don't fall for lies, Mr Winchester."

John sighed. Sherlock was showing off again. He couldn't always tell if someone was lying - hell, he had even fallen for his lie the other day. He was trying to guilt trip Sherlock into going to the store for milk, and when he refused, John had snuck out and bought some. He had told Sherlock that Mrs. Hudson had went and bought it for them, and it seemed like it had worked. Sherlock had seemed mildly upset about it.

Dean cleared his throat. "Forestry. I chopped down trees for a living for a good chunk of my life." He rubbed the palm of his hand. "Wielding axes give you callouses."

"He used to be FBI." Sam added. "Like you said. He got removed from duty and then quit altogether."

Sherlock stared at Sam, quietly making deductions.

John saw something familiar in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around, and saw him staring directly at the group. The man in the tan trench coat and blue tie. He nudged Sherlock and pointed to him.

"What?" He snapped, uninterested in some stranger.

"That's the man I was talking about. The one I saw when you were getting into the cab." Sam and Dean followed where John was pointing, and Dean did a double take.

"Shit." He muttered. "I didn't warn him."

"Him?" Sherlock asked, bothered by his lack of knowledge about this mystery man. "You know him?"

"Uh, yeah- that's - that's Cas." He sighed. "Sam, take them to get their luggage. Me and Cas'll meet you guys at the car."

"Sure thing." He patted Dean on the shoulder, then grabbed John's bag and started walking.

Dean took a deep breath and started towards him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Cas!" He yelled. The angel watched him approach. "Cas, what the hell?"

"Hello, Dean." Was his reply.

"Dude, you can't just pop in and watch us from ten feet away. You're not Edward Cullen."

"I don't know who that -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He waved a hand. "Look, why are you here?"

"I assumed you still wanted me to watch them."

Dean stared at him. Was he really that ignorant?

"No. No, I don't."

"Oh. Well, I will .. go, then. I will check in with you later."

"No, wait!" He grabbed Cas' arm, stopping him from zapping out.

"Look man, we're going to have two civilians who are completely ignorant about the supernatural hanging around us for about a month. We're still gonna need you, but you can't just … zap in whenever you want to. That's not gonna help things."

Castiel looked confused. Dean sighed.

"You're gonna have to pretend to be a human for a little while. Or at least until I tell these guys about the things that go bump in the night."

"So - I'm going to have to pretend to be a human? Will we all fit in your .. baby?"

Dean gave a small smirk at Castiel's choice of words. "Uh … No. No, I guess not. Just, how 'bout you just call us. I'll let you know when you can start flying in and out. Okay?"

Castiel processed this information and nodded. "Capiche."

Dean patted his shoulder and grinned. "Awesome. See you later, man."

"Yes. You too." There was a smile on the angel's lips, and then he disappeared.

Dean walked away smiling.


End file.
